Creative Writing Portfolio

Creative Writing Portfolio

Kim Rooney 2014

Introduction

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Poetry Moon Prose Draft: Nightly Visitor Moon Poem Draft: And As She Speaks Moon Poem Revision: Listen Moon Haiku Draft: She Looks at Me Moon Haiku Revision : Transformation Outside Poem #1 Draft: A New Visitor Outside Poem #1 Revision: A New Visitor Outside Poem #2 Draft: Dream of Flight Outside Poem #2 Revision: Spark in the Night Outside Poem #3 Draft: Why Should We Hide?

Outside Poem #3 Revision: Why Should We Hide?

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Prose Circular Story First Draft: Looking Past Circular Story Revision: Looking Past Character Based Story First Draft: Seize the Day Character Based Story Revision: Running Out of Spoons Point of View Story First Draft: Spying on the Adults Point of View Story Revision: Spying on the Adults Unusual/Awkward Setting Story First Draft: Hiding Unusual/Awkward Setting Story Revision: Last One’s It Visual from Blood Lotus Literary Blog: “compound light”

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Introduction When I walked into class on the first day, I was determined to walk out three weeks later a better writer. With the help of my classmates during class, workshop, and in passing around campus, I achieved my goal and so much more. However, that creates far too neat of a narrative for my three weeks in this class.

Everything I thought I knew about poetry was shattered on the first day. What?

Few to no rhymes? Uneven stanzas? And what on earth is “spoken word”? Never before had I seen poetry like this. Never before had poetry come alive like this. I thought I was walking in with a steady foundation on which to build my poetry, but I soon discovered that I only had a wall shielding me from the raw emotion and experience that poetry can capture. However, this didn’t really hit me until we began workshop, which was when it rammed into me, knocking the breath out of my lungs as I sat, transfixed, listening to my peers read their poetry. Each voice was different, and each style taught me something new—what I wanted in my poems, what I didn’t, what I wanted to emulate, what I wanted to experiment with. I thought I was rebuilding my foundation only to have it torn down again when I, after years of teachers drilling imagery into my head and a week of Zein dissecting every description, found the most powerful image in a poem bare of any descriptions. The week and a half spent on poetry taught me a multitude of lessons about imagery and form, analysis and stream of consciousness, but the most important thing I learned is to avoid concrete rules in poetry—they only give the illusion that you can learn everything there is to know.

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When we reached the prose section, I breathed a sigh of relief. Stories—I can do stories, I told myself. I was used to writing and reading fantasy stories, and I figured that fiction couldn’t be that far from it. Then we read “Something to Remember Me By,” and I realized that we were far from the realm of dragons and magic. When we moved on to flash fiction, I welcomed the challenge of balancing conciseness with substance and development. However, I hadn’t expected the additional challenge of research. I’ve never thought twice about researching fantastic beasts, weapons, battle formations, and fighting strategies, but I hadn’t expected to need to do so much research about things I’ve experienced. Yet only after countless Google searches about wedding prelude music and bridal parties, the most popular makeup brand and product name, and fabric for everything from couches to dresses did I have enough information to write my four stories. All of this when, in most of my stories, the scopes are small and there are rarely changes in setting. However, the best form of research was reading the assigned stories.

They were unlike most of the stories I’ve read, and while some, like “Sweat,” were a bit difficult to read, they exemplified styles, voices, and characters I’d rarely encountered before this class. I’d hoped to improve my character development and consistency, and they provided excellent references. “Virgins” was especially interesting to read because the dynamics between characters were consistent yet developed realistically throughout the story. Once again, though, workshop was where I formed short-term improvement goals for writing. Some of my peers paint such beautiful pictures in each of their stories, and that’s something I hope to do in my own writing.

It was an interesting three weeks to say the least, and I can’t wait to see where what I’ve learned from this class and from these people will take me.

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“MERWARRIOR,” BY KIM ROONEY.

Moon prose Draft Nightly Visitor Every night, the Moon pays me a visit. Every night, she travels across the sky on her chariot of silver, as she has since her creation. Though her parents, the Titans Hyperion and Theia, also created Helios and Eos, the sun and the dawn, only Selene speaks to me as she makes her journey. She whispers of her duties to illuminate the night, croons of her lover, Endymion, who drove her to madness from passion, and murmurs of her unbreakable ties to her siblings and to the earth mother, her grandmother Gaia.

Every night, I listen to the Moon. Her voice floats on the air like dandelion seeds after a wish has been made. She tosses her tresses behind her shoulder as she tells me of her purpose to bring light to darkness, given to her by her father. Though her duty to act as a beacon was forced upon her instead of discovered, she remains unwavering in fulfilling her responsibility. She finds solace and strength in her task, and she lends some to me. Her lover, Endymion, can never return her passion, for Zeus punished him with an eternal slumber after he pursued Hera, Zeus’ wife. Yet she visits him nightly, and when she descends from the heavens to visit him, she brings passion for all mortals and gifts to me faithfulness for any love I hold. Despite her heart’s solitude, she always feels the push and pull of her family—Eos and Helios chase her from the sky as night turns to day, but Gaia beckons her close once more, refusing to let her granddaughter go. Selene accepts the eternal cycle, and she teaches me acceptance of family and comfort in routine.

I thank her, and she graces me with a smile before looking to the east, where her sister transforms Selene’s moonlight into the first rays of dawn. Selene wishes me farewell before mounting her chariot and chasing the last of Nyx’s darkness to the edge of the horizon.

Comments: • Don’t let it get too abstract • Don’t overwhelm the reader with names that distract from the moon—stay focused and be mindful of perspective • Paint a bigger picture ! bigger message o All gods are coming together for one purpose (the moon) • Expand on the mythology

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Moon poem draft And As She Speaks Traveling across the sky on her chariot of silver, the Moon visits me and Whispers in my ear. Her voice echoes in the night, as it has since the Titans Hyperion and Theia created her. Selene, the Moon.

And as she speaks, she gives me strength and solace.

Her parents forced her onto the pinnacle as a beacon, a light in the darkness.

Yet she remains unwavering, a guide to the lost.

And as she speaks, she gives me faithfulness in love.

Her heart yearns for Endymion, but her lover is trapped in an eternal slumber.

Yet she visits him nightly, a harbinger for passion.

And as she speaks, she gives me acceptance and pride.

Her siblings chase her from the sky; her grandmother Gaia beckons her back.

Yet she stands tall, the focus of an eternal cycle.

The powers of the pantheon came together to create her, And she fulfills her duties with loyalty and devotion.

Yet she has surpassed her origins, and she urges me to do the same.

Comments: • Underline adjectives and see if they’re too cliché/overused • Try cutting out “as” and “the” and “of” and the like • Avoid abstractions

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Moon poem revision Listen With a bit of silence And a dash of tranquility You can hear her voice Echoing in the night.

Selene, the Moon.

She stands tall on her Pinnacle of silver light, Guiding the lost.

Yearning for a lover lost To Zeus’ curse, She visits him every night.

Chased from the sky By her siblings, Drawn back By her grandmother Gaia, She stands at the Converging point of the Pantheon.

Once a speck in Nyx’s darkness, She has surpassed her origins And dares me to do the same.

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PICTURE COURTESY OF GOOGLE.

Moon haiku draft She Looks at Me The guide, the beacon Lighting the way for lost souls Daring me to try

Moon haiku revision Transformation Reflecting no more Her radiance lights the way Daring me to try

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PICTURES COURTESY OF GOOGLE.

Outside poem #1: Draft A New Visitor Down Down Down Down the rabbit hole Falling Faster Now

Falling, are we?

I remember Alice She could float.

Where are the books And maps and cupboards That I was promised?

I only see darkness Darker than the knave of spades

You really don’t know what happened After Alice left Hatter riddled no more Caterpillar lost his hookah, and, well, You should see the queen.

Oh, that hurt quite a bit I was promised a softer landing Rabbit? Oh, Mr. Rabbit I’m ever so grateful to find A friend here But where are you going?

Stop! Don’t leave me!

How very drab Is this the lot we’re attracting these days?

Then again, what can you expect?

The White Rabbit’s not so white anymore He’s not here to help you And you might be catching on At last.

This isn’t anything like What I was told Where are the flowers?

Where are the animals?

Where are the potions?

Disappointed, are we?

Well, we can’t all get what we want.

Honestly, where’s your imagination?

A little creativity goes a long way But you must provide the spark.

This can’t be it I was promised so much better!

I want my Wonderland!

Sorry, love But if you’re going to act like this Wonderland doesn’t want you.

Falling faster, I see Tsk, tsk What use are you?

Comments: • More imagery in the first column • Consider punctuation in the second column • Try merging into one line of stanzas (NOTE: I tried this in the third draft to help smooth the flow between the two columns when reading left to right but decided the two column format was preferable.)

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Outside poem #1: Revision A New Visitor Down Down Down Down the rabbit hole Falling Faster Now

Falling, are we?

I remember Alice She could float.

What’s happening?

I’ve fallen so far already Where are the books And maps and cupboards That I was promised?

There’s no orange marmalade here Not even an empty jar. Just darkness Darker than the knave of spades

You really don’t know what happened After Alice left We burned everything, dreamt it all away There’s nowhere left to hide Hatter riddles no more Mad March has abandoned his tea Caterpillar’s lost his hookah, and, well, You should see the queen.

Oh! That hurt quite a bit I was promised a softer landing Rabbit? Oh, Mr. Rabbit I’m ever so grateful to find a friend here But where are you going?

Stop! Don’t leave me!

How very drab.

Is this the lot we’re attracting?

I was promised better company. Then again, The White Rabbit’s not so white anymore He’s not here to help you And you might be catching on At last.

This isn’t anything like what I was told I came for wonder but all I see are Animals screeching nonsense Potions boiling and hissing Flowers snarling, biting at my dress Teapots in scarlet stained shards

Disappointed, are we?

Well, we can’t all get what we want.

Honestly, where’s your imagination?

A little creativity goes a long way In this world of madness But you must provide the spark.

This can’t be it I was promised so much better!

I want my Wonderland!

Sorry, love But if you’re going to act like this Wonderland doesn’t want you.

Falling faster, I see Tsk, tsk What use are you?

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PICTURE COURTESY OF GOOGLE.

Outside poem #1: draft Dream of Flight A spark, a light, a flash at the start You nurture it, love it, give it your heart Ideas flowing, they never once stop Your excitement builds, ready to pop But be wary, dear friend, for danger lurks close Out there in the darkness, it waits to approach To gobble your flame, to extinguish your light It will find you, my child, no matter your might Do not fear, my dear one, keep your head held up high For the time of your greatness is now drawing nigh You must fight through the darkness and battle the demons For once you are done, with the gods you’ll stand even All right, I’ll admit, I’m exaggerating a bit But I’ve seen your soul’s fire, and I know that it’s lit So stand up to the voices, the jeers, for they lie Gather courage and patience, and one day you’ll fly

Comments: • It sounds as though the speaker is addressing a child • Try internal rhyme • Try it without rhyme • Stay informal in the last stanza • Direct address = good

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Outside poem #2: revision Spark in the Night It begins with a spark Growing and building Never stopping With your heart at Its base Nurtured by hope Until it becomes a Raging fire Burning across the cosmos In the light of your eyes But for every flame There is darkness Prowling, growling Searching for weakness And weakness it will find As it cuts off your air And forces the once borderless expanse Of your mind To collapse, extinguished The embers surrendering one By one Until there is Nothing left They say pass through the fire But what happens when the fire Dies?

What happens when the fire Coursing through in your veins Goes out And all that’s left Are fading embers and The remnants of your charred heart?

There is beauty in darkness But one day You’ll want to turn on the light And when you do The darkness will be there To pounce, to destroy But only if you let it

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“LIFE OF ITS OWN,” BY KIM ROONEY

Outside poem #3: draft Why should we hide?

No more, I cried There will be No more But there was more There was so much More There was you You and your Brilliant Mind You With your extra Spark, that beautiful Curiosity That shines brighter than a The first rays of dawn Banishing the night And so I took your hand And we ran Together We escaped and We never looked back Never dared to look back How could we When there was so much ahead To see And we’ll keep running Until our soles are worn down And then we’ll run some more No more hiding Why hide from it When you can run from it And never stop Because what use is stopping When there’s you And new grass beneath our feet And new wind knotting our hair And a new sun shining down and Warming our faces And it’s just us Traversing the universe together

Comments: • Seems like the words that needed most attention were placed at the beginning of each line • “traverse…universe…” = good final line • Consider condensing some of the lines

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Outside poem #3: Revision Why should we hide?

No more, I cried There will be No more But there was more There was so much More There was you You and your Brilliant mind You and your Extra spark, that Beautiful curiosity That shines brighter than The first rays of dawn Banishing the night And so I took your hand And we ran We escaped and We never looked back Never dared to look back How could we When there was so much ahead To see And we’ll keep running Until our soles are worn down And then we’ll run some more No more hiding Why hide from it When you can run from it And never stop Because what use is stopping When there’s you And new grass beneath our feet What is it this time?

Crabgrass? Bluegrass?

Maybe even applegrass?

And there’s new wind knotting our hair Carrying petrichor and adventure On its breeze And there’s a new sun Shining down and Warming our faces And it’s just us Traversing the universe together

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PICTURE COURTESY OF GOOGLE.

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“ALL DOLLED UP,” BY KIM ROONEY.

Circular story: draft Looking Past “Gran, are you awake?” Arianna asked as she dashed down the stairs, fixing her earring with one hand and clutching a bottle of pills with the other.

Laughter floated through the air from the family room. Light from the television screen threw shadows across Penelope’s wrinkled face.

“Gran, you need to take your pills,” Arianna prompted, picking up the pill organizer and filling each compartment with two pills from the bottle. She handed Penelope the two for that day along with a larger white pill. Penelope accepted them, swallowing them dry without taking her eyes off the television.

Arianna took the pill organizer and bottle into the kitchen, placing them in the cupboard above the sink as she called, “I might be getting that promotion today. Maybe then we’ll be able to rent a bigger apartment.”

Silence, except for the banter of the actors on screen. Arianna’s shoulder slumped as she stared down at the kitchen sink full of dirty dishes. She snatched a bowl from the pile and turned on the sink, trying to drown out the sounds of the television. As she scrubbed, she glanced at the back of her gran’s head and said, “Did you hear me, Gran? I might be getting that promotion.”

She watched Penelope’s head nod but didn’t hear anything. Her jaw tight, she raised her voice and said, “Gran, I—” “That’s nice.”

Arianna fell silent, washing the rest of the dishes without a word. Once she finished, she grabbed a granola bar and a water bottle and returned to the family room.

Standing in front of the television, she announced, “I’m going to work.”

Penelope stared past her. Gritting her teeth, Arianna turned and left.

As Arianna returned home that night, she saw the weak light from the television in the window of their apartment. She clenched her jaw the entire elevator ride, and she paused before her door. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and stood for a moment, ignoring the laugh track penetrating the thin walls of the apartment building.

Forcing her lips to curve into a passable smile, she unlocked the door and went inside.

She set her purse down on the hall table and walked in front of the television.

Penelope remained motionless, her eyes reflecting the actor’s movements.

“Gran,” Arianna said with an over-wide smile. “I got the promotion at work. Isn’t that wonderful?”

Penelope showed no signs of hearing her, so Arianna turned around and turned off the television. She looked at Penelope again and repeated, “Isn’t that wonderful?”

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“Good for you,” Penelope said before bending forward and taking the remote from the coffee table. She turned the television back on and returned to her previous position.

Resisting the urge to snatch the remote out of Penelope’s hands, Arianna sat down beside Penelope on the couch. Penelope shifted to accommodate the extra weight on the cushion, but her eyes never left the screen.

Pursing her lips, Arianna said, “You know what? I think I’ll quit. I’ll find a job somewhere else. What do you think?”

Penelope didn’t respond. Arianna clenched her fists, digging her fingernails into the cotton cushion before she stood up. As she walked away, Penelope said, “You were never any good at that job, anyway.”

Arianna paused, her muscles tensing as she clenched her teeth and turned on Penelope.

“Excuse me?” Arianna fumed, storming back. She pushed the coffee table out of her way and stood directly in front of Penelope as she said, “I work this job to take care of us. I do. Not the people in your shows, not anyone else—me. Ever since mom died, I’ve had to do everything, and you never even look at me. Not once.”

Penelope shifted to the right to see the television better.

“Why won’t you look at me?” Arianna screamed as she grabbed Penelope’s shoulders and peered into her eyes.

Arianna’s eyes burned as tears welled up. She blinked, but it only hastened the tears progress out of her tear ducts and down her cheeks. Her voice thicker, she said, “You used to look at me. You used to talk to me and eat with me and hold my hand when I cried.”

Penelope blinked, still transfixed to the screen.

“Why won’t you look at me?” Arianna asked again, her voice breaking.

Penelope pointed to the television and said, “Isn’t she lovely?”

Arianna frowned, turning to look at the television. A woman with soft brown curls was laughing. Arianna slid down to sit by Penelope and watched as the woman took the hands of a young girl. As the woman picked up the girl, Penelope’s lips curled up and her eyes crinkled as she said, “She looks just like my little girl. See? She even has her own little girl, just like mine did.”

Tears rolling down her cheeks, Arianna whispered, “Gran, that’s not—” “I remember curling my little girl’s hair. They didn’t let me curl her hair the last time. I…I wanted to curl them like I always did,” Penelope said, her smile fading. “They took my baby girl away from me. But here she is. Every morning at ten and every night at nine. Sometimes she’s on in between, but it’s never for very long. Isn’t she beautiful, though?”

“Yeah, Gran. She’s gorgeous,” Arianna said, her voice trembling.

Penelope smiled at the television.

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Arianna wiped the tears from her cheeks before resting her elbow on the back on the couch. She covered her mouth with her hand, her brow furrowed. She stared at Penelope’s silhouette and, in a voice so soft she could’ve only been speaking to herself, she asked, “Gran, are you awake?”

Comments: • “Gran” is also a name ! consider a different word for grandmother?

• Look at adjectives and verbs, enhance language • Cut unnecessary words • If characters are general, make the setting specific • Improve the transition between Arianna leaving and returning home • End sends you coasting • How old is Arianna?

• Good job keeping scope small and adding detail to it • Try reframing sentences so that their names aren’t mentioned with every reference to them • “tears welled up” – cliché

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Circular story: revision Looking Past “Gran, are you awake?” Arianna asked as she dashed down the stairs, fixing her earring with one hand and clutching a bottle of pills with the other.

Laughter floated through the air from the family room. Light from the television screen threw shadows across Penelope’s wrinkled face as her lips twitched into a smile.

“Gran, you need to take your pills,” Arianna prompted, plucking the pill organizer out of the jumble of magazines and newspapers littering the coffee table. She filled each compartment with two pills from the bottle and handed her gran the two for that day along with a larger white pill. Penelope accepted them, swallowing them dry without taking her eyes off the television.

Arianna took the pill organizer and bottle into the kitchen, storing them in the cupboard above the sink as she called, “I might be getting that promotion today. Maybe then we’ll be able to rent a bigger apartment.”

Silence, except for the banter of the actors on screen. Arianna’s shoulder slumped as she stared down at the kitchen sink full of dirty dishes. She snatched a bowl from the pile and turned on the sink, trying to drown out the sounds of the television. The water splashing on the dishes and the stray drops plinking on the side of the sink mixed with the scraping of the abrasive half of the sponge, but they couldn’t rival the laugh track invading the kitchen. As she scrubbed, she glanced at the back of her gran’s head and said, “Did you hear me, Gran? I might be getting that promotion.”

She watched Penelope’s head nod but didn’t hear anything. Her jaw tight, she raised her voice and said, “Gran, I—” “That’s nice.”

Arianna fell silent, scouring the rest of the dishes without a word. Once she finished, she grabbed a granola bar and a water bottle and returned to the family room.

Standing in front of the television, she announced, “I’m going to work.”

Penelope stared past her. Gritting her teeth, Arianna turned and left.

She moved through her to-do list for that day, part of her still standing in front of the television, trying to turn her gran’s focus from the screen as she had ever since she was twenty-three. Despite every check mark she made on her list, she couldn’t budge.

As Arianna returned home that night, she saw the weak light from the television in the window of their apartment. She clenched her jaw the entire elevator ride, the laugh track and the over-the-top voices she’d listened to for the past six years already ringing in her ears. Stomping out of the elevator and down the hallway, she stopped before her door.

Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and stood for a moment, ignoring the laugh track penetrating the thin walls of the apartment building. Adjusting her black pencil skirt and brushing specks of dust and lint off her blazer, she forced her lips to curve into the

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wide smile that she used when addressing clients. She laid her hand on the doorknob, pausing before she unlocked the door and marched inside.

She set her purse on the hall table and strode in front of the television. Penelope remained motionless, her eyes reflecting the actor’s movements.

“Gran,” Arianna said, beaming. “I got the promotion at work. Isn’t that wonderful?”

Failing to extract a reaction, Arianna whipped around and switched off the television. She turned back, her smile even brighter as she repeated, “Isn’t that wonderful?”

“Good for you,” Penelope said before bending forward and taking the remote from the coffee table. She turned the television back on and returned to her previous position.

Resisting the urge to snatch the remote out of Penelope’s hands and hurl it across the room, Arianna sat on the edge couch. Penelope shifted to accommodate the extra weight on the cushion, but her eyes never left the screen.

Pursing her lips, Arianna said, “You know what? I think I’ll quit. I’ll find a job somewhere else. What do you think?”

As always, nothing. Arianna clenched her fists, digging her fingernails into the cotton cushion before she stood up. As she walked away, Penelope said, “You were never good at that job, anyway.”

Arianna paused, her muscles tensing as she clenched her teeth and turned on Penelope.

“Excuse me?” Arianna fumed, storming back. She shoved the coffee table out of her way and stood directly in front of Penelope as she said, “I work this job to take care of us. I do. Not the people in your shows, not anyone else—me. Ever since mom died, I’ve had to do everything, and you never even look at me. Not once.”

Penelope shifted to the right to see the television better.

“Why won’t you look at me?” Arianna screamed as she grabbed Penelope’s shoulders and peered into her eyes.

Arianna’s eyes burned as her gran’s face blurred before her. She blinked, but it only hastened the tears progress out of her tear ducts and down her cheeks. Her voice thicker, she said, “You used to look at me. You used to talk to me and eat with me and hold my hand when I cried.”

Penelope blinked, still transfixed to the screen.

“Why won’t you look at me?” Arianna begged, her voice breaking as she dug her fingers into her gran’s frail shoulders. She felt movement under her hands, and she looked down to see an arm raised, a trembling finger pointing towards the screen.

“Isn’t she lovely?”

Arianna frowned, turning to look at the television. A woman with soft brown curls was laughing. Arianna slid down to sit on the couch, sinking into the water- and

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tear-stained cushions. The woman took the hands of a young girl and picked her up. As the woman lifted the girl into the air, the corners of Penelope’s lips lifted, and her eyes crinkled.

“She looks just like my little girl. See? She even has her own little girl, just like mine did.”

Tears rolling down her cheeks, Arianna whispered, “Gran, that’s not—” “I remember curling my little girl’s hair. They didn’t let me curl her hair the last time. They insisted on some newfangled fashion—said it would frame her face, prettier than a picture—but it wasn’t right on her,” Penelope said, her smile fading. “And then they took my baby girl away from me. But here she is. Every morning at ten and every night at nine. Sometimes she’s on in between, but it’s never for very long. Isn’t she beautiful, though?”

“Yeah, Gran. She’s gorgeous,” Arianna said, her voice trembling.

Penelope smiled at the television.

Arianna wiped the tears from her cheeks before resting her elbow on the back on the couch. She covered her mouth with her hand, her brow furrowed. Staring at the silhouette occupying the cushion beside her, in a voice so soft she could’ve only been speaking to herself, she asked, “Gran, are you awake?”

PICTURE COURTESY OF GOOGLE.

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Character based story: draft Seize the Day Virginia smiled at her reflection, turning her head each way to catch a glimpse of herself from every angle possible. She stroked her carefully done curls before calling across the room, “Lily, if you’re done with the eyeliner, I need it.”

“No one’s even going to be looking at us. It’s Ann’s wedding, not ours,” Lily said, her voice strained as she tilted her chin up and ran the pencil across her eyelid.

“Somebody’s always looking, Lil,” Virginia said, smiling at the mirror as she posed like a 40s starlet. She stood, crossing the room and standing over Lily until Lily handed her the eyeliner.

“It’s not the right brand. Come on,” Virginia said, tossing the eyeliner onto the vanity and pulling Lily along with her. “Ann’s fiancé has some cute friends.”

“Why don’t you go alone?” Lily suggested.

“I’m not going for me, silly. I’m going for you,” Virginia said, tugging Lily out of the room. She raised Lily’s chin and looked her over before commanding, “Smile. You look prettier that way.”

Lily’s lips barely lifted, but Virginia nodded, leading her into the foyer of the church. The five groomsmen were standing in a circle, their voices and laughter mingling. Lily hung back as Virginia strode towards them and introduced herself. Lily turned to go back, but Virginia hooked her by the arm and pulled her into the circle.

“This is my sister, Lily. She’s single, and she loves a good time,” Virginia said, presenting her as though she was a brand new $100,000 car. “Don’t you, Lily?”

“Hello,” she said, raising a hand and giving a small wave. A chorus of “Hello, Lily” ran around the circle, and her cheeks reddened as she tried to excuse herself.

“Nonsense,” Virginia insisted, clutching her arm and preventing her escape. “So, what floor are you boys staying on?”

“Eighth,” the tallest groomsman answered.

“I don’t see how that’s relevant to us,” Lily mumbled, but Virginia shushed her.

“We’re going out for drinks after the reception tonight,” another groomsman said.

“Would you ladies like to join us?”

“We’d love to,” Virginia said as Lily said, “I don’t like to drink.”

“T-that’s O.K. I don’t either,” the groomsman standing opposite Lily stammered, and she smiled gratefully at him. Virginia gave her a small push into the center of the circle so that she was standing in front of him, and she wrapped her arms around herself, looking for a way out.

“Let’s leave these two to get to know each other,” Virginia suggested, dazzling the other groomsmen with a smile she’d perfected from years of practice. She led them away, and Lily tried to follow them, but Virginia grabbed her arm and stopped her.

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Leaning in, she whispered, “Don’t be rude! He’s standing there waiting for you. You’re making a bad impression.”

“But—” “You never did well with any of the guys I set you up with in college because you were always too shy. Do you want to let another one get away? Don’t you like the guys I set you up with?” she asked as she pouted.

“It’s not that, I just—” “Then go have fun,” Virginia ordered.

“But you don’t—” “Lily, I don’t date anyone because I need to watch out for you,” Virginia said, sighing heavily and taking Lily’s hands. “Without me, you’d never get out, and nobody would ever see your pretty face. It hurts me to be alone all the time, but I do it for you.

The least you can do is try to enjoy yourself. Please? For me?”

“I-I guess,” Lily said, and Virginia smiled.

“Then go and seize the day,” she said, pushing Lily back towards the groomsman.

“Remember, love is in the air!”

Virginia joined the other groomsmen, and Lily turned to the groomsman.

“If you don’t want to talk, it’s O.K,” he said, his brow crinkling as he attempted a smile.

“No, my sister’s just…” Lily began before biting her lip and saying, “I mean, my name’s Lily.”

“Adam,” he said, holding out his hand. She shook it, and he said, “So, you’re Ann’s…?”

“Cousin,” Lily blurted out, and they both turned away, glancing at the floor and struggling to think of something else to say. They turned back and began to speak but stopped when their voices overlapped.

“Sorry,” they said simultaneously.

Lily laughed and began to say, “I was just going to—” as Adam said, “I just wanted to say—” “Why don’t you go first?” Lily offered. He smiled, glancing down at his shoes before looking back up at her. Their eyes met for an instant, and his widened as he said, “Whoa, your eyes just changed colors.”

“What? Oh, sorry, they do that sometimes in the light,” she apologized, casting her eyes down and scratching her forehead in an attempt to cover them.

He stopped her hand and pulled it away, peering into her eyes as he said, “No, they’re really pretty. Sort of a bluish green…like the ocean.”

“Thanks,” she said, her lips curving up into a smile. She realized he was smiling back, and she bit her lip before adding in a rush, “My sister’s eyes are normal. So are Ann’s. It’s a funny story, really. Virginia’s eyes used to—”

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“I don’t care about her eyes,” he said, and she realized he was still holding her hand. “Tell me more about you.”

“Y-you probably don’t want to—” Lily stammered as Virginia hurried up to them.

“Guess what? Ann told me you two are paired together,” she squealed, squeezing Lily’s shoulders before taking off.

Adam offered her his arm and suggested, “Why don’t you tell me a little, and we can go from there?”

She looked at his arm, then at his eyes. They were hazel, and they still held the invitation. Seize the day, a tiny voice in the back of her head called, and she bit her lip before smiling, her lips parting as the corners of her eyes crinkled.

Comments: • Their ages need to be more clear from the beginning • Title fits but is slightly cliché in the story • The descriptions on the first page are good • Try to move away from the “as she” sentence structure • Check for unrealistic dialogue • Don’t tell too much of the story through dialogue • They could be teenagers with an older sister getting married • Watch repetition of names • Too many stammers • Act more like their age—more adult conversation • Describe the setting • Explain why Virginia can’t date • Would Virginia leave Lily alone so soon after she’d met Adam?

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Character based story: revision Running Out of Spoons The Spoon Theory was created by Christine Miserandino. The theory is simply a story that explains what it is like to live with a chronic illness or disability. A person who is chronically disabled or ill only has a limited amount of expendable energy each day. The spoon theory uses a metaphor of spoons to turn energy into a measurable concept. A person living with chronic illness or disability only has a certain number of spoons in their possession each day, and every small action a person takes can result in a lost spoon. Simple actions like getting out of bed, taking a shower, walking, and driving can require enormous amounts of energy that people don’t have. Some examples of disorders that are chronic and draining of energy are: Depression, PTSD, Functional Neurological Disorder, Anxiety disorders, Hypothyroidism, Fibromyalgia, Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, POTS, Nail-Patella Syndrome, Multiple Sclerosis, Lupus, Endometriosis.

— The Spoon Theory (thespoontheory.tumblr.com) Virginia smiled at her reflection, turning her head each way to admire herself from every angle possible. She stroked her carefully-done curls before calling across the room, “Lily, if you’re done with the eyeliner, I need it.”

“No one’s even going to be looking at us. It’s Ann’s wedding, not ours,” Lily said, her voice strained as she tilted her chin up and ran the pencil across her eyelid.

“Somebody’s always looking, Lil,” Virginia said, smiling at the mirror and posing like a 40s starlet. She stood, crossing the room and standing over Lily until she handed over the eyeliner.

“It’s not the right brand. Come on,” Virginia said, tossing the eyeliner onto the vanity and pulling Lily along with her. “The groomsmen are probably done getting ready.”

“What? They’re way too old for us,” Lily protested. She’d seen the groomsmen at the rehearsal dinner, and they were all well out of college. She’d seen wedding rings on the fingers of several of them, and one had even pushed a stroller into the restaurant.

They wouldn’t give high school girls a second glance.

“Not all of them,” Virginia said, tugging Lily out of the room. “Ann told me those were Pat’s friends. His family came in last night after the rehearsal dinner.”

“Don’t you think it’d be kind of weird for Ann?” Lily asked, her heart rate picking up as the notion of small talk with complete strangers invaded her mind.

“I’m sure she’ll be cool with it. She was the one who told me about them,” Virginia reasoned. She raised Lily’s chin and looked her over before commanding, “Smile. You look prettier that way.”

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Lily’s lips barely lifted, but Virginia nodded, leading her into the foyer of the church. The six groomsmen were standing in a circle, their voices and laughter mingling.

Ushers led the first guests around the groomsmen and the flower arrangements of white roses, and they arrived just in time to see Ann’s mother make a beeline through the crowd clutching a bottle of baby powder, a container of bobby pins, and a roll of hemming tape.

She bowled through the groomsmen, and they chuckled and closed their circle as they watched her disappear around the corner.

Two groomsmen Lily hadn’t seen the night before took the chance to let the circle close without them, and Virginia’s eyes narrowed and focused on them as her lips parted in her signature smile. The taller of the two noticed Virginia and smiled in return, which she took as an invitation to join them.

“Virginia, please, I don’t think I can do this,” Lily said, grabbing Virginia’s arm before she could leave. Virginia turned and gave her sister an impatient glance before shaking off her hand and joining the two boys.

The crescendos and decrescendos of the piano warped together with the voices of the guests in the foyer, and Lily felt the first beads of sweat accumulating on her brow, concentrating the heat instead of relieving it. Suddenly, she realized that they were all staring at her. Her breath caught in her throat, and she wrapped her arms around herself in defense as Virginia walked back over.

“Come on, they’re really nice. Just give it a try,” Virginia encouraged, trying pull Lily along with her, but Lily resisted. Guests’ chatter filled the void between them as they stared at each other, neither of them willing to budge. Seeing that her sister was rooted in place, Virginia leaned in and whispered, “Don’t be rude! They’re standing there waiting for us. You’re making a bad impression.”

“You know I’m bad at meeting new people,” Lily said, pressing the back of her free hand against her cheeks in an attempt to cool them.

“You just need more practice.”

Lily shook her head, her eyes squeezing shut as she forced herself to take a deep breath. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“Look, just tell them you’re nervous. Maybe they’ll think it’s cute,” Virginia said, trying once again to pull Lily along with her. Lily stumbled, her head growing light and her breathing growing shallow.

“Can’t I just go back to the dressing room?” Lily pleaded as Virginia steadied her.

“Mom always says you needed to get out more.”

“Mom doesn’t believe me about the anxiety. She says I’m making it up, but I’m not,” Lily said, her throat tightening. “Please, I just…I can’t do this right now.”

“Hey, it’s cool if you two are in the middle of something,” one of the boys said, touching Virginia’s arm lightly as they passed. “We need to get our flower things, anyway. I’ll catch you later, I guess?”

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Virginia began to protest, but they’d already disappeared into the throng of pastel dresses, hand-me-down sports jackets, and fitted tuxedoes making its way into the chapel.

“Great,” Virginia grumbled. Turning back to Lily, she snapped, “I hope you’re happy.”

“I’m sorry,” Lily whispered, holding herself tightly as the heat rushed out of her, leaving only cold sweat that exacerbated the itchiness of her crinoline and pantyhose.

“Why can’t you just…pretend?” Virginia asked, her shoulders sinking, her arms dragged down by the bangles on her wrists. Even her curls fell flat as the veil surrounding Lily muted her sister’s vivaciousness.

The crowd parted around them, their minds filled with running commentaries on the lovely ambiance that the sunlight created as it shone through the stained-glass images of doves and olive branches. There was no room left for the two girls excluded from the excitement, whose countenances belonged at a funeral instead of a wedding.

“Come on. We should get our bouquets,” Virginia said, taking Lily’s hand. As they walked through the crowd, Virginia said, “Can you make it through the ceremony?”

Lily nodded, but once they got their bouquets, she asked, “Can you come back to the hotel with me after the wedding? Mom won’t let me if I ask to go alone.” She saw Virginia hesitate and added, “Please? I can’t go to the reception. The rehearsal and the photos took a lot, and there’s still the wedding.”

Virginia glanced over at the boys before looking down at her dress that she’d so carefully adorned just hours before. Every stroke of Maybelline eyeliner, mascara, and eyeshadow weighed down on her, and she bit her MAC Ruby Woo stained lips.

Lily nodded and mumbled, “It’s alright. I can just sit outside or something.”

She cast her eyes down and turned to leave, but Virginia grabbed her hand and said, “We’ll ask together.”

Lily’s lips parted in the shadow of a smile, and Virginia’s cheeks lifted as she squeezed Lily’s hand. Lily’s chest and throat relaxed, and she gulped in air as her head broke the surface of the anxiety and stress that had been washing over her since she’d woken that morning.

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PICTURE COURTESY OF GOOGLE.

Point of view story: draft Spying on the Adults In position I close the DS, careful not to make a sound as I sit behind the kitchen cabinet. My leg is starting to cramp, and I think my foot’s asleep, but I’m not going to be the one to blow the mission. The adults can’t see me, and I worked too hard to get into position. The T.V.’s on in the family room, and I hear the adults laughing, so I dare to peek my head out. Aunt Helaine slaps her thigh as her sharp, high-pitched laughter pierces the air.

Mom’s sitting next to her, and Dad’s sitting in the chair across from them. Uncle Craig is there, too, but I only see the back of his greying head as the light from the T.V. washes across the other adult’s faces. I didn’t hear the joke, but it can’t be that funny if they’re laughing that hard. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Kimmi and Spencer get in position on either side of the doorway between the family room and living room. Kimmi always has to go with one of us because she didn’t get a DS for Christmas and can’t send messages. But she usually wimps out before the mission’s complete, and Spencer’s better at dealing with that, so he usually lets her go with him. I duck back behind the cabinet, leaning against the polished wood as I check my DS for messages.

Us too I set my DS on the ground, dimming the brightness so the adults won’t notice. I’d close it, but Dad’s on the other side of the wall, and I don’t think the T.V.’s loud enough to cover the noise. Kimmi’s on the other side of the doorway, doing that weird squatthing she does instead of sitting like normal. She’s biting her lip, trying to hold back a giggle as she glances into the family room. She’s got a better view of Cameron, so I mouth to her, “Is he there?” She nods, covering her mouth as her the corners of her eyes crinkle. I put my fingers to my lips and give her a warning glare. She nods but doesn’t remove her hands. We’re gonna have to abort the mission if she keeps that up. I’m not sure what we’ll do if we don’t abort the mission, though. We’ve always aborted the mission because of something. Usually it’s her, though. I peek out to see Mom staring at the T.V., but as she turns to look at Dad, I can’t move back fast enough to get out of sight. Abort! Abort! I message Cameron, and we scamper back upstairs to the safety of the bonus room. Maybe we’ll find out how missions end next time.

Comments: • Indent after “Is he there?”

• Make it clearer who Cameron is • Maybe focus on it as a coming of age story—innocent game until they see something they weren’t meant to see?

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Point of view story: revision Spying on the Adults In position I close the DS, careful not to make a sound as I sit behind the kitchen cabinet. My leg is starting to cramp, and I think my foot’s asleep, but I’m not going to be the one to blow the mission. The Adults can’t see me, and I worked too hard to get into position.

The T.V.’s on in the family room, and I hear the Adults laughing, so I dare to peek my head out. Aunt Helaine slaps her thigh as her sharp, high-pitched laughter pierces the air.

Mom’s sitting next to her, and Dad’s sitting in the chair across from them. Uncle Craig is there, too, but I only see the back of his greying head as the light from the T.V. washes across the other Adult’s faces. I didn’t hear the joke, but it can’t be that funny if they’re laughing that hard.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Kimmi and Spencer get in position on either side of the doorway between the family room and living room. Kimmi always has to go with one of us because she didn’t get a DS last Christmas and can’t send messages. But she usually wimps out before we complete our missions, and Spencer’s better at dealing with that, so he usually lets her go with him.

I duck back behind the cabinet and reach for the night-vision binoculars I brought with me. Kimmi told me I wouldn’t need them because the Adults wouldn’t be sitting in the dark, but what does she know? Besides, it’s pretty dark in the family room. I test them out, raising them to my eyes and pressing the top ridge against my forehead. I squint as I stare at the kitchen table and chairs, their white paint tinged green. Everything’s kind of blurry, too, but you can’t have it all.

Peeking out again, I sit a little taller to get a better view. The Adults haven’t moved, but I can’t see as clearly as before. I frown, squeezing my eyes closed before looking again. No difference. I can’t even see Kimmi’s silhouette in the other room, but if she’s watching, I can’t let her know she was right. Keeping the binoculars jammed against my face, I slide back in the kitchen and lean against the polished wood as I check my DS for messages.

Us too I set my DS on the ground, dimming the brightness so the adults won’t notice. I’d close it, but Dad’s on the other side of the wall, and I don’t think the T.V.’s loud enough to cover the noise. Kimmi’s on the other side of the doorway, doing that weird squatthing she does instead of sitting like normal. She’s biting her lip, trying to hold back a giggle as she glances into the family room. She’s got a better view of the door to the kitchen, so I mouth to her, “Is he there?”

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She nods, covering her mouth as her the corners of her eyes crinkle. I put my fingers to my lips and give her a warning glare. She nods but doesn’t remove her hands.

We’re gonna have to abort the mission if she keeps that up. I’m not sure what we’ll do if we don’t abort the mission, though. We’ve always aborted missions because of something. Usually it’s her, though.

Cameron always makes me take her with me on missions, which slows me down when I’m trying to get in position. I’m a lone wolf, not a guide dog. It doesn’t help that he got to take the binoculars this time. Still, Kimmi’s kind of stealthy, and she’s always there to blame if I mess up the mission, so I guess it’s not all bad.

Reviewing our strategy in my head, I go over the map we drew out up in the bonus room before the mission began. Well, I drew up because I’m the best drawer. It detailed different paths to our positions, possible escape routes, and emergency hiding places in case we couldn’t escape in time. We all had our designated emergency hiding place, and mine was usually the coat closet, in the nook behind the coats. Last time Kimmi was here, we’d considered moving our base from the bonus room closet to the hall closet so we’d be closer to the action, but then we’d realized it was too small for the three of us, the mission supplies, and a lamp. Plus there wasn’t an outlet to plug in the lamp or charge our DS’s.

I really wish that was still my designated hiding place. Kimmi begged me to switch because she didn’t fit in her old one that well, and Cameron tag teamed against me. Now I’m stuck running all the way to the dining room to hide in the corner between the china cabinet and the wall. I guess I could hide with Kimmi, but two people means less space and a bigger chance of rustling mom’s fur coats or scratching a hanger against the rack. Plus, if the Adults found our hiding place, two of us would get caught, and we’d doubly fail. Cameron’s the mission leader this time, and if I let us have a double failure, I’ll never get another turn at being mission leader. But if you’re the one who completes the mission and finds out how it ends, I think, You’ll probably get to be mission leader every time.

Eager to prove myself, I peek out to see Mom staring at the T.V. But as she turns to look at Dad, I can’t move back fast enough to get out of sight. Abort! Abort! I message Cameron, already thinking up the reason why we had to abort as we scamper upstairs to the safety of the bonus room. Maybe we’ll find out how missions end next time.

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PICTURE COURTESY OF GOOGLE.

Unusual/awkward setting story: draft Hiding The stench of days-old laundry is really starting to get to me. I’d pinch my nose, but I can’t risk moving. The tiniest movement is amplified by the shirts, sweatpants, and pants piled upon me—from the slightest expanding and shrinking of my chest as I breathe to the flutter of my eyelashes as I blink. No, I can’t risk it. Even though I can feel beads of sweat rolling down my body and my lower back is burning from being pressed against the air vent. The metal might’ve even seared its vertical pattern into my skin. What am I going to do if I have a barcode burn on my back? Will I be able to lie down again? I wish I could lie down now, but if blinking is risky, shifting my body position is a sure-fire way to get caught. I don’t even know what my legs could bump into in the darkness of this cramped closet. Lost shoes separated from their mates after a long night out? Discarded toys pushed to the back of their owner’s mind, their days of playing moored in the past?

The possibilities are endless, mostly because I can’t see a thing. The only light is coming from the gap between the scratched oak floorboards and the underside of the closet doors, but its illuminating power only pierces a few centimeters of the darkness. I’d expected the light to be pink to match the color of the walls of my sister’s room, but it’s a faint yellow, somewhere between watered down lemonade and pure white. My ears twitch as faint cheering penetrates the walls around me. I frown and dare to press my ear against the wall as laughter permeates the air. I count the voices and realize that everyone’s downstairs except for me. My jaw drops, and I jump up, my head slamming against the rack. I wince, stumbling to the side, suffocated by cotton t-shirts and nylon dresses. I tear at them, my fingers digging into lace and silk and linen before I burst out of the closet and dart out of my sister’s room. Scampering down the stairs, I stop short in the doorway of my kitchen. Nine pairs of eyes look up at me, seven of which belong to my friends sitting at the table, their forks hanging somewhere between their plates and mouths, their eyes wide as they realize who they’d forgotten to find, their mouths smeared with the blue and red buttercream frosting of my tenth birthday cake.

Comments: • Indent in her back instead of burn • Keep the narrative voice consistent • Clarify gender and age of narrator • Clarify setting, make it clear that it’s not the speaker’s closet • Make it clearer that they’re playing hide and seek • Tighten language

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Unusual/awkward setting story: revision Last One’s It The stench of days-old laundry is really starting to get to me. I move to pinch my nose, but my elbow slams against the closet wall instead. I freeze, holding my breath, not daring to move. I listen for the sound of feet running up into the room and hands throwing the closet doors wide open to find me, my finger centimeters away from my nose as I sit with my sister’s shirts, sweats, and jeans piled on top of me. When I hear nothing, I breathe a sigh of relief and lower my hand. If I pinch my nose, my arm might get tired, and then I’d have to lower it, which would mean moving and maybe hitting the wall again. No, I can’t risk it.

Beads of sweat roll down my body, and my lower back is pressed against the heat vent. It’d hurt a little when I first sat down, but I stopped noticing it a while ago. What if it’s because its pattern is already pressed into my skin? What if when I get up, there’s a big barcode indent on my lower back and my party dress is all wrinkled? Mom’ll be mad about the dress, but she can iron that. She’ll be furious about the indent. She grounded my sister for months when she got a butterfly tattooed on her lower back, and she was sixteen! What if it’s permanent like the tattoo? Will I be grounded, too? She can’t ground me, can she? Not today of all days, right?

My head grows light at the thought of it, and I wish I could lie down. I would, but I have no idea what my legs could bump into in the darkness of this cramped closet. The last time I hid in here, I got caught because my knee bumped into the wall unit and made it fall. This time I’m positioned so I can’t possibly hit it, even by accident, but my sister leaves all sorts of things on her closet floor. In my time exploring and hiding in here, I’ve found everything from shoes she told Mom were lost to toys Mom told her to give to me but I never got. Every time I come here, I find something new. I’d try to imagine what I might find this time, but the possibilities are endless, mostly because I can’t see a thing.

The only light is coming from the gap between the scratched oak floorboards and the underside of the closet doors, but it barely stretches half the width of a floorboard. I’d expected the light to be pink to match the color of the walls of my sister’s room, but it’s a faint yellow, somewhere between watered down lemonade and pure white.

I wonder what’s taking them so long to find me. I’ve been sitting here for ages. I just hope I’m not the last one they find. If I’m the last one, I’ll have to seek next round, and I’m a terrible seeker. I can never find anyone, even in my house, where I’m supposed to know all the hiding places.

Faint cheering interrupts my thoughts. I frown and press my ear against the wall as laughter cuts through the air. I count the voices and realize that everyone’s downstairs except for me. My jaw drops, and I jump up, my head slamming against the rack. I wince, stumbling to the side, suffocated by cotton t-shirts and nylon dresses. I tear at them, my

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fingers digging into lace and silk and linen before I burst out of the closet and dart out of my sister’s room. Scampering down the stairs, I stop short in the doorway of my kitchen.

Nine pairs of eyes look up at me, seven of which belong to my friends sitting at the table, their forks hanging somewhere between their plates and mouths, their eyes wide as they realize who they’d forgotten to find, their mouths smeared with the blue and red buttercream frosting of my tenth birthday cake.

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“COMPOUND LIGHT,” BY BL PAWELEK, ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN BLOOD LOTUS LITERARY BLOG